


Reverie

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Idrelle's Holiday Fanfic Gifts 2017 [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Antiva City, F/M, Fluff, Kisses, Love, Romance, Satinalia, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: Thalia and Fenris take a moment for themselves on the balcony of their Antivan villa.This is a gift for the wonderful @nelmdraws.





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for [@nelmdraws](http://nelmdraws.tumblr.com/), whose artwork I have admired for a very long time. Thalia Hawke belongs to her. I highly recommend checking out her artwork on tumblr, it is divine!

 

She laughs when he gives her the bottle of wine. 

It’s their third week in Antiva City. Satinalia is in full swing and Thalia can see the town lit up for miles from their villa. Paper lanterns are strewn from house to house. Garlands of flowers and colourful silk ribbons decorate windows and balconies and rooftops. It’s a welcome burst of colour after Kirkwall and Thalia thinks that she never wants to leave. 

There’s comfort here in Antiva. Part of it is the wine and food, of course, but there’s something attractive about anonymity. No one knows who they are. No one cares. On the street, they are simply two more people, two more _lovers,_ holding hands and taking in the sights. It doesn’t matter that she’s an apostate mage and he’s an escaped Tevinter slave. It doesn’t matter that she’s the Champion of Kirkwall or that he can stop another person’s heart with his hand.   

Their past doesn’t matter. They are their own persons here, free from the shadows that have followed them for almost a decade. 

“What’s this?” Thalia asks as he proffers her the wine, a smile on her lips. They’re on the balcony, enjoying the moonlight and starlight of a warm evening. There is the slightest of breezes, just enough to pull at the delicate teal silks Thalia wears. She loves this dress—sheer fabric draped over her shoulders, a bodice cut to accentuate her curves, the skirt cut to reveal her thighs. It’s something she feels comfortable in, something she can move in. 

And she loves the way Fenris looks at her when she wears it. 

“It’s a gift,” Fenris says. “Take it.” 

Thalia swishes her currently glass of Antivan red and raises an eyebrow. “Hm… More wine to go with our abundance of wine? How intriguing.” 

“Look at it,” Fenris insists. 

Thalia chuckles and sets down her glass. She takes the bottle from him and her eyes narrow as she recognizes the label. “This is from your mansion,” she says. She’s long forgone referring to it as Danarius’ mansion. She hasn’t spoken the foul man’s name since his demise. “You brought it all the way here?” 

“It’s the last one,” Fenris explains. “I thought we’d finished it long ago.” 

“I seem to recall you smashing most of it against the wall.” 

“Hardly! That barely scratched the surface.” 

He’s smiling. She loves when he smiles. So many years spent with so little happiness to grasp, she’s glad that he can find it now. Easily. Effortlessly. If anyone deserves it, it is him. 

“That’s true,” Thalia says. She puts the bottle on the table next to her wine glass and clasps her hands behind her back. “I remember where the rest of the bottles went.” She sways back and forth, her eyebrows arched, her expression coy. 

Fenris shakes his head and throws an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m surprised you do.” 

“Hey!” She taps him lightly, playfully, with the back of her hand. “I wasn’t _that_ drunk.” 

“Yes, you were.” 

“I was not!” 

“Thalia, I was there. I had to talk you down from sending irate letters about Kirkwall’s crime rates to both the Coterie and the Carta. I think one of them even slipped through and Varric spent two weeks doing damage control.” 

Thalia tilts her head to the side. “Oh. Now that you mention it…” 

His hand finds hers and he squeezes it gently. “In retrospect, it is quite amusing.” 

“Only at Varric’s expense.” 

“Considering the laughs he gets at _our_ expense, I think he deserves this one.” Fenris pauses. His thumb rubs the back of her hand. “Did you know he’s writing a book?” 

“He’s always writing a book.” 

“A book about you.” 

Thalia pauses, mouth half open. She snatches her wine glass from the table and downs half of it. “I… had an… inkling…” 

Her voice is muffled by the wine glass. The fact of the matter is that she’s known for a while that Varric would be writing a book about her. They talked about it. Maker’s breath, she’s even encouraged him to write certain scenes, given him certain phrases of dialogue to put in her mouth, even though she never said them in actuality. The book is going to be a riot. _The Tale of the Champion…_  

It’s a tale for the rest of Thedas to hear. 

What _really_ happened in Kirkwall is only to be known by Thalia and a select group of people. 

“You knew,” Fenris accuses. 

Thalia finishes her wine and puts the glass down. She spreads her hands apologetically. “…maaaybe?” 

Fenris rubs his forehead. “I’m not surprised.” 

“Varric’s promised me a quarter of the proceeds,” Thalia says. 

“A quarter? You should have bartered for half!” 

“What would you know about bartering? You still owe him five sovereigns from your last match of Wicked Grace.” 

Fenris chuckles. “Fair enough.” 

He pulls her in close. One hand runs through her brilliant red hair, marveling at its length. Thalia sighs happily and buries her face in his neck as she presses herself against him. His shirt is open and she can feel the tautness of his muscles through her thin blouse. Music wafts up from the streets below. Thalia drapes her hands around his neck and they slowly move in time to the agonizingly beautiful Antivan melodies.    

“What were we talking about?” Thalia murmurs. 

“Hm?” He’s distracted. Or lost in holding her. 

Thalia spies the discarded bottle of wine. 

“Oh, of course,” she says. “The aggregio pavali.” 

“The _last_ aggregio pavali,” Fenris echoes. He runs a hand over the shaved part of her hair, gently cupping her ear. “Do you know it was an excuse?” 

“An excuse?” Thalia asks. “How so?” 

“To visit you,” Fenris clarifies. They are still swaying to the music. “All those times I visited you home, I did so under the pretense of offering you a bottle of aggregio pavali. All because I wanted to see you and I thought I needed a substantial reason to do so.”

Thalia pulls away. She’s blushing. “Fenris…” 

He clasps her hands with his. “So, in honour of that… would you share the last bottle with me?” 

Thalia smiles. “Of course.” 

She fetches fresh glasses. When she returns to the balcony, he has already opened the bottle. He pours them each a glass, then raises his in a toast. 

“To you,” he says. 

Thalia smiles and clinks her glass against his. They both drink. The wine is velvety and rich. It immediately reminds Thalia of Kirkwall, of the good times more than the bad. The wine is heavy on her tongue and she takes another sip, staring at Fenris over the rim of her glass. She finishes her wine and sets down her empty glass, slipping her hand into his as he drinks. When he finishes, she gently plucks his glass from his hands and puts it away. 

“Good?” he asks. 

Thalia shakes her head and presses two fingers against his lips. “More than good,” she murmurs huskily. “But it’s not to me. It’s to _us.”_  

She kisses him then, fully and soundly. She wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She feels his hands against her back, his fingers raking across her skin as she deepens the kiss. There’s a power between them, so tangible, so palpable, she can feel it everywhere. She pushes him back and they’re still swaying, moving as one to that enchanting music so far away. And then his back is to the wall, and his hands are on her, her lips on his, and there’s nothing but the softness of the wind, the headiness of the wine, and the touch of lovers entwined. 

After, when they’ve stumbled from the balcony and tumbled into their bed, when they’ve found their passion and their ecstasy under a clear moon, when she is wrapped around him and his hands are stroking her hair, Thalia sighs happily as she presses herself against his chest. 

Maker’s breath, she loves Antiva. 

There is no other place she would rather be.


End file.
